


In which John is made acutely aware that lips have a million nerve endings

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Series: In which..... [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, its just an experiment, they are both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-08 03:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: Babysitting is the beginning of a slippery slope.  Sherlock plans an experiment which feels so right that it goes all wrong and John is in trouble. Doctors are not taught how to interpret dreams so poor John keeping seeing them but does not understand what they mean. ( Set in a universe without the Fall and with no Mary and although I am quite fond of him, Mycroft does not make an appearance.)





	1. Chapter 1

‘Should I take the baby from you?”

Now that’s a sentence John never expected to be saying to Sherlock inside 221B.

Mrs Hudson’s sister was visiting along with her daughter and granddaughter. The daughter had fallen ill and needed to be in hospital for a week and one thing had led to another and somehow the almost one year old granddaughter had been left in the care of one Army Doctor and one Consulting Detective at Baker Street for a period of five days, with promises from one Pathologist Registrar to drop in and check on everyone once in a while.

Was a baby ever looked after by more overqualified and clueless babysitters? It would be hard to imagine.

********************************************

John had reassured the mother that it would all be fine and he had taken her long list of ‘Things to Do’ and stuck it up on the fridge. Then he had made a longer list of ‘Things NOT to Do’ and stuck it on the door to Sherlock’s bedroom. Then he had made a more reasonable sized list of supplies and things and gone shopping so that they did not run out of any essentials, in case they were trapped at home for some reason. Blizzards? Plague of locusts? Alien abductions? Who knows! He lived with Sherlock and he had invaded Afghanistan. He knew that ‘be prepared’ was one hell of a sensible piece of advice.

So they now had a tiny mountain of disposable nappies in one corner of the living room, a smaller hillock of wet wipes, a heap of onesies and a bin. The kitchen, swept clear of all experiments and gleaming clean, now held a deep tray with bottles, milk, infant food, spoons, napkins etc

Sherlock’s contribution on day one had been to impatiently assure Mrs Hudson that all would be fine and usher her out, then he had swanned off somewhere for god- knows- what, turned up late, crashed the door open and made the baby wake up and cry and then had stared at the baby and at John, clearly having forgotten or never focussed in the first place on what they had promised to do.

‘Right’, John said getting up from the sofa with a bit of a struggle. ‘You wake her, you take her’, and he handed the screaming infant to Sherlock, stretched his arms up and yawned and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

Sherlock held the screaming baby at arm’s length like she was a live bomb and stared at her for a good minute.

Finally, just when John thought he simply could not bear to hear the cries anymore and was getting ready to march into the living room and be Captain John Watson, the crying stopped. Quite completely. And in the ensuing silence he barely heard a disturbance of the air particles and a low vibration coming from the general direction of Sherlock.

He peeped out and saw that he was holding the baby propped up against his shoulder, patting her on the back gently but steadily and ……was he humming?? Was that a lullaby?

His heart hitched at that frankly ADORABLE sight but he could not stop the grin from splitting his face in two and just as he moved his hand towards his pocket to take out his phone for a photo that would give him a lifetime of bargaining power, Sherlock swept around and hissed at him. “Don’t you dare!!”

_Oh well_ , he shrugged and put his phone away. He had 5 more days to find another opportunity.

He pointed towards the crib and whispered to Sherlock, “Should I take the baby from you? If I put her in there, she may sleep for an hour or so.”

“No, it’s ok,” he whispered back. “I will hold on to her”.

 

And so it turned out that Sherlock was the most hands- on baby sitter and surprisingly the baby was also soothed by him. He played with her when she was awake, rubbing her belly, patting her cheeks and holding her hands which looked ridiculously teeny-tiny inside his large ones. And when she fell asleep in his arms he would just lie back and let her tuck herself onto his chest and gently rise and fall with his breath. Of course John insisted he do that only when he was in the centre of the bed and never on the sofa.

John had been left open mouthed in astonishment at this new side to Sherlock and had taken some photos and even some short video of them together. But when he had seen the videos again he found it just so adorable that he could not find it in himself to share it with anyone even for teasing. He would save them to look at when his flatmate was being especially annoying and he needed to calm down. _( of course John. Why else would you want to look at videos of your flatmate cuddling a baby and sleeping or singing a lullaby......)_

In return Sherlock had absolutely refused to take on any responsibilities related to cleaning the baby up or feeding but John was used to seeing much worse stuff in the wards and had agreed to manage it.

********************************************

Molly was finally able to drop by on day three, carrying some rubber toys that looked suspiciously like tiny femur bones and an odd looking mouse. When John had looked askance at them she confessed that she had been too busy to find a baby toy store and had gone to the pet store down the road from her flat, figuring that babies and pets were all pretty much on the same scale of intelligence.

She had ended up being speechless on seeing Sherlock come out of his bedroom with the baby and then sitting on the floor, holding the baby by her hands and encouraging her to walk!

“It is time for this milestone Molly” he had explained to her “She just needs some encouragement. I mean her parents named her _Trixie_. What hope is there for her progress?!” he said with a huff.

And before they knew it day three turned to day four and suddenly it was day five.

When the baby was finally picked up by her grandmother and Mrs Hudson and fussed over and all the mounds of provisions were sent with them, John noticed something unexpected flit across his flatmate’s face.

Was it sadness? Was it disappointment? Was it wistfulness? Was it longing?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock plans an experiment and wants John to help. Obviously.

Two days later, when John came home from the clinic he found Sherlock lolling all over the sofa, hugging a cushion.

“Ah you are home, that’s good. I made you a cup of tea and got some bread pudding.”

“Ok mate, who are you and what have you done to Sherlock??”

“Oh John, so cynical, so world weary. I was BORED and I knew you would be tired when you got home”.

John was still suspicious but the bread pudding seemed to be smelling REALLY good. He needed to confirm once anyway so he asked Sherlock “Have you drugged the tea or the pudding?” and was given a glare in return that managed to be annoyed and tragically put upon at the same time.

John rolled his eyes and decided to just go for it. The very first spoonful was so divine that he no longer cared even if it was drugged! He ate up the entire serving, pushed his chair back and said “That was lovely Sherlock. So tell me now-- What have you done? What do you want?”

Sherlock hesitated for a second, perhaps wondering if he could pretend there was no reason, but obviously he was bubbling over with some Great Idea and blurted out “I want you to help me with an experiment.”

John hummed. “Mmmhmm. Does it involve breaking in, drugging me, jumping into the Thames or doing anything illegal?”

Sherlock tilted his head as though considering each option carefully and finally said ‘Nope’’.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Nope.”

‘Will I need to call Mycroft at any point to rescue you?’

‘Hope not. NO’.

‘How long will it take?’

‘Maybe 15 days? Then I can decide if I need more data’.

‘Ok, I will consider it’, John said (knowing that he would never really be able to say no to Sherlock when he looked like this--a kid in a candy store.),”But first tell me what it is about.”

Sherlock sat up excitedly and started talking rapid fire.

“Did you know that scientists began investigating _skin hunger_ shortly after the Second World War? In controversial experiments run by American psychologist Harry Harlow, infant rhesus macaques were separated from their birth mothers and given the option of two inanimate surrogates: one made out of wire and wood, and another covered in cloth. The baby monkeys favored the cloth surrogate, even when the wire one was the only one that held a bottle of milk. So, they deduced that babies needed more than nourishment from their mothers to stay alive. They called this ‘ _contact comfort_.’ John, human beings apparently need TOUCH almost as powerfully as they need food and water.”

‘Oi, oi, slow down,’ John said, rubbing his eyes a bit, his face clearing up, “You are missing the baby! It’s ok. You can just say so you know. Don’t have to hide it under scientific theories!”

‘Oh John, as usual, you see but you do not observe.’ Sherlock huffed. “Researchers have shown that even the act of hugging can reduce your levels of stress hormone cortisol. John-- you are a doctor! You should _know_ this. The skin in the largest organ and the average square inch holds more than 1,000 nerve endings.”

‘’Yes…. but what has that got to do with your experiment?’ John asked, imagining for a brief second the living room full of framed pieces of skin like the Art Gallery of Hannibal Lecter or like Cassandra from Doctor Who while he ran around trying to moisturize them.....

Sherlock was still offloading facts and information and data and continued as though John had not spoken at all. “Your namesake, an American psychologist John B. Watson wrote a horrible book in 1928 in which he advised parents never to hug and kiss their children and never let them sit on their lap. Seriously. He said that in a week’s time you will find how easy it is to be perfectly objective with your child.”

John cursed under his breath. _Fuck these experts._ He wondered briefly what kind of a childhood Sherlock had had but knew better than to ask.

Sherlock continued, “But touch is important for adults also! Studies have shown that regular skin- to- skin contact can improve people’s mood, appetite and sleeping patterns.’ He paused and looked at John carefully. “You do want me to eat and sleep better don’t you?”

‘Hmm, sure’, said John, ‘but what is the experiment about? You don’t want to kidnap a bunch of babies to pat them I hope?’

‘No, John,” he rolled his eyes. “Why would I need high maintenance babies when I have _you_?! _You_ have to provide me with skin- to- skin contact. Obviously!’

John went very still and his breathing stopped and he was sure his face was starting to flush. A forbidden image rose of him and Sherlock lying in bed, every bit of their skin touching each other. And all the blood left his brain for a more exciting location.

‘’No’, he said, in a cold voice. ‘Sherlock. Just NO. Stop it.”

‘Oh come on John, I am giving you a chance to help me eat better and sleep better and you are turning it down without even considering it?’ Sherlock pouted.

John got up and said,’ Goodnight Sherlock.’ and went up to his bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes a journey through his own mind. It’s a bit Not Good. He may have made it through a war but this battle he was losing.....

He had been living with Sherlock for almost a year now and since the first moment he had set eyes on him at the lab in St Bart’s he knew that Sherlock was special. There was just something about him that was amazing and fascinating and dangerous. He had felt a frisson of excitement and the world that had been turning grey and dismal around the edges ever since he returned from the war suddenly seemed to have sharpened in focus and colours seemed to be seeping in.

He had killed a man to save Sherlock’s life within a day of meeting him. He had also killed any beginnings of feelings or desires for him after that first conversation at Angelo’s when he had been so completely and well rejected.

But he had continued to care for Sherlock and look after him and follow him around and help him with cases. He had apologized on his behalf to Greg and stood up on his behalf against Mycroft. He needed to make sure he ate on time and sensibly, that he slept, that he did not neglect his health. ( _only because that would affect the work_ ….yes John we believe you).

And with every passing day he had grown to have feelings for him which were clearly beyond anything that a flatmate would feel for another.

Well he could accept that he was much more than ‘ _just a flatmate’_ for sure. He was his work partner and his blogger and his friend. Sometimes he was even his conscience and his social interpreter. But somewhere deep inside him he knew that his truest feelings transcended every one of these labels.

He had already killed for him. He was quite sure he would take a bullet for him.

He knew that his life was divided into a phase _Before I met Sherlock/_ _After I met Sherlock_ even more so than _Before I went to War/_ _After the War came to Me_.

The broken invalided Army Doctor had risen from the ashes to become an urban warrior on the side of angels. There was still death and mayhem and danger of course but at least they were in the cause of real justice, not the illusion of it that existed on war fronts.

However, it was more than just the euphoria of owing his new life to Sherlock. He could not imagine any other life now. He could not imagine any other way of living.

He could not imagine being _Just John_ any more instead of _Sherlock & John_.

He had tried so hard never to give those feelings any name, hoping that if he never labelled them he would remain safe. If he never identified them he could pretend they weren’t there. If he never asked he could not be rejected.

He knew he was a textbook case of denial, but hey with war related PTSD, an openly homophobic father, an alcoholic mother and now an insane flatmate, he was entitled to some self- preservation games with his own mind. He may not have a Mind Palace like the genius but he had his own Pandora’s Box that was best left locked and chained with a few landmines placed strategically around it because it contained the most dangerous thing in his known universe.

His true feelings for Sherlock.

.

.

.

Obviously he had done a really good job of projecting his denial because despite being such a genius it would seem that Sherlock had no hint of how he felt for him. Hence this preposterous experiment he was suggesting……….. _skin to skin_.

It was utterly ridiculous and completely un-acceptable.

*****************************************

John slept restlessly that night and dreamt of owls and woke up with a feeling of unease in his chest.

When he came down the stairs it seemed that Sherlock had not slept all night. He was now curled up on the sofa with his back to him and was obviously sulking.

John ignored him, went to the kitchen and made two cups of tea. He had his own tea and a toast, kept one for Sherlock on the table next to him, showered and got ready and left for work without saying a word.

**************************************

When he got back home, almost nine hours later, Sherlock was still in exactly the same position, as were the cup of tea and the plate of toast.

John sat down wearily on his chair and rubbed his eyes.

_How long would this sulking fit last?_

_How long would he himself last in the face of seeing Sherlock starve himself like this?_

He suddenly sympathized with the British Government which had buckled under pressure from Gandhi every time he undertook a fast unto death. Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes was no Gandhi but this was a battle John was going to lose, whether he said yes or no to this _experiment_.

_And was there any universe in which John would ever really say no to him when he wanted something badly……._

He cleared his throat.

‘Sherlock, what did you have in mind for the experiment?’’ he asked tentatively.

At that Sherlock turned around in a flash and sat up beaming with such delight that John almost smiled back at him fondly and had to bite back his lips at the last minute.

_This was just the opening round of negotiations. If he smiled now he would have nothing left as bargaining power._

‘Well, I made this Matrix of Acceptable Touching’, Sherlock started to say, waving his hands in the air drawing his matrix. ( _Of course he did_ John thought mentally rolling his eyes)

“You know I don’t like being touched but I don’t mind touching someone if I know I am going to do it. Like the baby. Also, I don’t mind being hugged briefly by Mrs. Hudson but I don’t like it when it is someone I don’t know ………..and so on and so forth. So I thought that based on my model, we could start phase one with me holding your hand, for a few minutes every day.’

John let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. _Just holding hands. For a few minutes a day. Surely he could manage that. After all it was not as though he had never touched Sherlock. With all the bruises and injuries and taking care of him, that was quite a regular occurrence. How bad could this get?_

And so it was that after dinner Sherlock set up a data chart on his laptop while John washed up and then they sat on the sofa to watch TV. Sherlock set a timer on his phone and scooted a bit closer to John and gently held out his hand, palm up.

John looked at those beautiful long fingers open in invitation, took a deep breath, prayed to the old gods and new for strength and gave him his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see an owl in dream symbolizes your expanded awareness or some magical virtue. The owl sees what is happening in the unconscious areas of your soul and thus it can bring you wisdom and insight about your hidden feelings and experience.
> 
> Also--Really John? Your resistance lasted all of 24 hours?!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can John survive a week of the experiment?

John was off from clinic the next day so he did the shopping and some cleaning up. In the evening he went for a short walk which Sherlock declined to join him for (“ _Cataloguing ant species found near the Thames, John_ ”). When he got back he kept the winter soup for simmering on the stove and went for a good long shower. He warmed the garlic bread and put out some cheese and nudged Sherlock to get off the microscope and join him for dinner and promised him a chocolate mousse for desert if he ate properly.

Sherlock spoke excitedly throughout dinner, “You do know that ants and aphids share a symbiotic relationship, which means they both benefit mutually from their working relationship. Aphids produce a sugary food for the ants, and in exchange, ants care for and protect the aphids from predators.”

He was going on about the different species and super ants and other things that John did not bother to pay much attention to. He just enjoyed the sight of his friend eating and happy and gave out a sigh of satisfaction.

Afterwards he sat on the sofa and picked up the remote to look for some TV to watch, when Sherlock came and sat next to him, much closer than he usually did. John turned to look at him and suddenly remembered the experiment. _Bloody hell._ There was no way the genius had forgotten about it had he.

And then his brain almost derailed because Sherlock had placed his hand palm up, on John’s thigh. The touch burned through his clothes and he was sure there would be a brand mark on his skin. His leg twitched and he tried to push him away.

‘What?’ Sherlock asked him. ‘You agreed!’

‘Yes Sherlock, but get your bloody hand _off_ me!’

“But this is day two John. Don’t mess with the setup of the experiment. We can’t keep repeating data sets can we? Today this is what we do.” And he wiggled his fingers at him in invitation.

John closed his eyes, prayed to St. Christopher, The Patron Saint of Bachelors to save his soul and put his hand in Sherlock’s.

Sherlock almost hummed in pleasure and _bloody HELL_ started stroking his palm with his thumb. John stopped breathing. He wanted to snatch his hand away but he thought that Sherlock would really get offended now.

At the same time he also wanted to resign from the clinic so he could sit here for days on end and never take his hand away.

Even if 5 minutes feel like eons, they still come to an end and when the timer sounded, Sherlock dropped his hand and dashed off to his laptop to record the data.

John slept even more restlessly that night and had dreams of black ants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black ants may represent a shadow aspect of yourself or they may symbolize a seemingly minor annoyance that you are repressing or denying. A dream about ants crawling on you may symbolize someone or something that is “getting under your skin” or annoying you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is getting more relaxed while John’s stress levels are through the roof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new chapters today because its the weekend !! Although you probably have lots to catch up on after the Royal British Wedding yesterday :)

The next two days followed the same pattern and though Sherlock seemed to be eating more than usual, John was losing his appetite. He would start to get nervous close to dinner time and had to almost steel himself to survive the experiment that would follow.

The last two days had seen an increase in the duration from 5 to 10 and now 15 minutes.

John felt that the poets had been right after all. _You could see eternity in 15 minutes or in a touch or whatever it is they damn well saw it in._

Every time the timer went off on the phone he would have a huge surge of relief that the touching was over followed by an equally huge feeling of craving for the touch.

His dreams at night were now of various body parts on fire while he was flying through the sky or over treetops and rivers and he was waking up drenched in sweat and _really_ was not getting enough sleep.

*************************************

On the 4th day of the experiment when he came down to make the morning tea, he almost scalded himself when his insane flatmate came up from behind him and put his arms around his waist.

They both leapt apart when the water spilt with a hiss.

‘Sherlock what the HELL!’ shouted John. ‘You could have gotten hurt!’

( _Interesting!_ Sherlock noted. _He is worried about ME getting scalded when clearly he was at as much or even more risk.)_

‘Sorry John’, he said.” I changed the pattern of the experiment a bit. We need to gather data from both ends of the day. Cortisol levels are usually high in the mornings and tend to get lower towards the evening. So we need to get inputs at both times. Cortisol is elevated when there is stress, so in fact we need to stop consuming any caffeine after 6 pm.”

John muttered under his breath as he cleaned the spill and put more water to boil. _Living with you means that my cortisol levels are probably through the roof 24/7 you giant GIT._

Sherlock moved to the breakfast table as though he hadn’t heard anything. “Do you know that due to cultural acceptance taboos in the western world, many adults flinch even if the person returning their change accidentally brushes their hand? Generally speaking, the fear of touch is much greater in men.”

John was still cursing under his breath. _I will touch your face with my fist if you don’t shut up now._

He put 4 toasts on a plate and smacked it on the table between them with vehemence.

Sherlock continued bubbling over with facts. “Scientists found that the hormone oxytocin is released into the blood stream when you hold a friend close. This lowers blood pressure, reduces stress and anxiety and can even improve your memory.” He paused. “Isn’t that great?!”

_He does not tell John that his research also showed that someone who hugs loved ones often became more empathetic over time. And he most certainly would not remind John that oxytocin is_ _sometimes known as the "cuddle hormone" or the "love hormone," because it is released when people snuggle up or bond socially._ _He had found that an interesting thought but he knew that John ‘I am not_ _gay’ Watson was often squeamish about such things between them._

_That is why he was hoping that this experiment would allow John to become more comfortable around his personal space and maybe someday……..things could be different._

As if on cue for avoidance behaviour, John promptly said “I am running late.” took a toast in his hand, put on his coat and ran down the stairs.

“ _Wish I was still dating_.’ John thought to himself.

But his feelings for Sherlock, however suppressed and surely un-welcome, meant that he just could not bring himself to date anyone any more.

“ _Maybe I can ask Sarah to put me on a double shift so I don’t go home till much after dinner?! It can’t be worse than this surely….”_

Unfortunately for John, all rotas were full for the next two weeks. Sarah looked at him oddly, a bit puzzled at his intense desire to put in more hours at the clinic but promised him that if anything opened up he would be the first one she would call.

Sigh.

So John went home in the evening dragging his feet upstairs, exhausted from dream filled nights and his _bloody_ cortisol shooting up every single time his _bloody flatmate_ held his hand.

Sherlock had already ordered Thai for dinner as was obvious from the delicate aroma of green curry and jasmine rice that wafted out as soon as the flat door opened. He sprang up from the sofa when John came in and said “John! It’s working! I have been feeling hungrier every evening than I ever used to! Come let’s eat.”

Looking at his gleeful face and the amount of food he served himself, John felt his load lighten a bit. Whatever this was doing to _him_ , it really seemed to be doing Sherlock some good. _And that was what mattered._

_._

_._

_._

But all his kindly thoughts went flying out of the window when he found out that day 6 involved not only holding hands with the palm rubbing ( which was driving him INSANE) but ALSO a long arm thrown around his shoulder at the back of the sofa, the dangling finger tips just touching his other upper arm.

He was cocooned. Trapped by a giant flesh burning moth.

He felt like a teenage girl at the movies with an over eager boyfriend on a first date.

His cortisol levels were probably enough to fell a couple of horses at this point.

He had no idea what they watched on TV for those 15 minutes but that night he dreamt of unicorns on fire, flying through a liquid rainbow over a wind whipped, bright blue ocean.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horses are symbolic of passion, drive and desire for personal freedom. According to Freud, horses represent the sexual drive and power of the dreamer.   
> Dreams about flying could mean compensating for a lack of freedom in waking life or may suggest you are overlooking or avoiding something.  
> The ocean is the beginning of life on Earth, and symbolizes formlessness, the unfathomable, and chaos.  
> A rainbow is a universal symbol of hope, luck, fortune, and wishes coming true.
> 
> (Oh John, you see your dreams but you do not understand!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John prays to the Patron Saint of Lost Causes.

Sherlock had taken to clearing his throat before he came in for a hug so as to prevent any further boiling water accidents in the morning. By the 3rd day of this John became aware that he was actually looking forward to it. When he realized this, he closed his eyes and prayed to the Goddess of Healing to give him the capacity to survive when these hugs stopped after the experiment.

He did not attach much significance to the fact that his brain had already catalogued a range of smells which told him whether Sherlock had brushed his teeth with the mint toothpaste, or he had also showered or whether he had not slept at all. And that under all these he always recognized the very essence of his flatmate’s smell which was a mixture of chemicals, sweat, perhaps some stale tobacco odour.

_(Oh John its ok to say pheromones. You are a doctor. It’s a medical term)_

On the 7th day of the experiment Sherlock had done a lot of data entry for week one and hummed and mumbled and analyzed the results.

‘Halfway through John! This is going to be marvellous’, he said, rubbing his hands together in glee. ‘Tomorrow we start phase 2.’

John’s heart almost stopped. ‘Do I dare ask what that involves?’

‘Sure, but I won’t tell you. Your cortisol levels should be lowering now to help you sleep.’

_Sleep my arse_ thought John to himself. _My brain is feeding me unicorn flambe and melting rainbows coulis_.

**********************************

The next morning John came down even more tired and slightly cranky.

Sherlock didn’t seem to be awake and his bedroom door was closed.

John didn’t notice that the Belstaff was gone till much later and realized that his first thought had not been ‘ _Where did he go without telling me’_ but ‘ _Oh… no hug this morning’_.

He rubbed his face. _This was a Lot Not Good. Not Good AT ALL._

He prayed to St. Jude, the Patron Saint of Lost Causes to see him through the day and left for the clinic.

*********************************

Later that evening as he climbed the stairs to the flat he realized he had butterflies in his stomach. It was like being a medical student all over again, walking towards his viva exams. But a part of his brain was also (kind of) looking forward to what would happen today, which was so Decidedly Not Good.

Sherlock was in the kitchen apparently cooking or at least heating and boiling things.

Un-bloody-believable!

A week of holding hands and tiny hugs and the sociopath was cooking food for them? What would be next? Having babies? And at that a sudden image of a baby boy with a riot of curly hair, and half closed blue green eyes being rocked to sleep by Sherlock singing a lullaby arose in front of his eyes and woah, woah WOAH…….. there go the cortisol levels.

‘Hello John!’ Sherlock practically beamed at him. ‘I was getting so hungry! Why don’t you freshen up and come down and I will serve the food?’

John went up in a daze, washed up, changed and came down to find a table set with some roast chicken, barley salad and lemon coriander soup.

Before he could sit in his chair, Sherlock came up behind him and gave him a soft hug.

‘I missed this in the morning’ he said, so enthusiastically that John simply had to turn around and hug him back.

‘Oh’ the genius’s face changed. ‘It feels…… even more lovely when YOU hug ME John’.

He hummed and went to the laptop. ‘You get started on dinner, I just need to fill out this new data’.

John sat down to dinner feeling slightly buzzed. They chatted and ate and eventually cleared it all up and sat on the sofa. Sherlock sat next to him and held his hand and stretched his other arm out on his shoulders.

_Ok. So far so good. He could deal with this…….._ when suddenly Sherlock raised John’s hand to his lips and gave him a feather touch kiss.

John tore his hand away like it was burnt. ‘’What the HELL Sherlock?!’’

‘Phase Two’, Sherlock said simply, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Lips have over a million nerve endings. Kissing has a stress-reducing effect on a person and improves memory as well as immunity.’

_Again, he did not tell John that the research also said that it_ _can strengthen feelings of attachment to the person you're kissing. And that it also recommended kissing on the lips, but hey slowly, slowly does it. Don’t scare the white rabbit._

What he said instead was ‘But if it stresses you so much, we can drop it’.

‘Yes!!!’ said John with force. ‘Drop it!!! And I am turning in early’, he said as he stomped up the stairs.

He dreamt of volcanoes erupting underwater with seahorses flying over them.

He tossed and turned and woke up rather irritable.

_This experiment is going to be the death of me, he thought._

_**********************************************_

The next morning he got ready and came down to make tea. With perfect timing, Sherlock came into the kitchen and cleared his throat.

John almost spun around to face him, ready to block any hug.

‘Did you sleep well?’ Sherlock asked, so solicitously and almost gently that John didn’t have the heart to say anything but just make a gruff sound in reply. And he allowed Sherlock to come in and hug him. After a 5 second long ( _oh too short!_ ) hug while drawing away he kissed John on the cheek.

‘Sherlock!!!” John spluttered. “We agreed to DROP the kissing!”

“Yes…’Sherlock said slowly, as if explaining something basic to a small child. “On the hands. At night. I read a study that said kissing increases adrenaline in fact. Maybe that is why you got so agitated yesterday. But during the day it is good to keep you alert isn’t it?”

‘NO Sherlock, I can’t. I just……No. We need to stop this ………It is just….’and without completing any of his sentences John left the flat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Essentially pheromones are secreted by men, women, animals, and tons of other species. These pheromones are detected by us through the nose and literally send signals to the hypothalamus to elicit attraction, sexual desire, and arousal.
> 
> Volcano dreams may appear when you are angry, but also when you're anxious or stressed, and can indicate a feeling of mounting tension.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor John needs a bolthole. Maybe on another continent. Or even on another planet if he can manage it. Like a good soldier he knows that he who fights and runs away will live to fight another day.

John went to the clinic and spent the entire day seeing patients in a highly distracted manner (Yes take this tablet AFTER meals; No, that is for local application, do not swallow it; Sure, whatever works for you) while half his brain was trying to figure out how the HELL he was going to deal with the genie that was slowly but ceaselessly escaping the bottle.

_Sherlock was treating the whole thing as a STUPID experiment and he himself had been an IDIOT to even agree in the first place._

_And now what?! If the experiment failed, they would never be able to justify the need to touch each other again………and if the bloody genius decided it had succeeded, then what??_

_How long would he be able to keep up with a slew of chaste kisses on his cheek and bloody fantastic enveloping hugs and cozy half cuddles on the sofa without one day breaking down and kissing Sherlock on his lips…… fiercely and …and just tasting him and touching him and putting his fingers through his curly mop of hair and ripping off his shirt and ……….Oh Gods in Valhalla._

He bowed his head into his hands and clutched at his face. What was happening to him?? Why was his brain betraying him like this? What was he supposed to DO?

He simply could NOT go back to Baker Street that evening.

_Who could he stay with?_

_Greg? No, he would have to explain too many things which he could not._

_Harry? Too much drama._

_Molly? Well that was a thought. She never asked too many questions. She was slightly eccentric in her own way and had always been warm and helpful._

He texted Molly and asked if he could stay over on her sofa that night.

{Sure}, she replied. {All ok?}

[Just Sherlock being himself. I needed some space. Is that ok J?]

{Yup. I will be home by 7pm.}

[Sounds great. I will get us a takeaway for dinner. Chinese?]

She sent back a thumbs up sign and so that was that.

_What was he supposed to tell Sherlock now?_ He knew that he had left things badly in the morning and simply could not offer any coherent explanation that would not be met with disdain and a ruthless cutting down of his objections as un- worthy trivia barring the way of scientific rigour.

And there was absolutely _no way_ he was going to confess to feeling turned on by all these touchy-feely gestures and the whole emotional turmoil being caused by his proximity only to be told by that posh git that _Emotions are a chemical defect John. I am married to my work blah blah._

Sigh.

He decided to take the easy way out. He texted Sherlock.

[Harry having trouble. I will be away for a few days.]

Neither sentence was a lie though both in conjunction were obviously utter bollocks.

As expected there was no reply.

********************************************

He bought a spare shirt, a T- shirt and pants and toothbrush at the local high street, got some Chinese takeaway and had a perfectly lovely evening with Molly who accepted his need for space at face value and did not ask for any explanations at all.

In fact, he realized that she was not just warm and kind (and with _feelings_ for Sherlock, sigh, _join the club_ ) but also funny in a twisted way and really sharp about her work. They traded medical college stories and she sympathized with his clinic issues and they agreed that she had it way easier cos her patients didn’t talk back nor did they need instructions on medication (snort).

He slept on the sofa while watching TV later and they both left for work together in the morning.

“See you in the evening?” she asked.

He hesitated. “If you don’t mind?”

“Ya sure”, she shrugged. “I had fun hanging out yesterday and I can understand that sometimes you need space from the Big Giant Head.” She rolled her eyes and both of them snorted.

“Self- preservation, yeah?” John said.

And so he kipped out at her place for 3 nights in a row and had a sound dreamless sleep every single night, thank you very much.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is in for a bit of a shock when he returns to 221 B. Can he hear two people in the bedroom with Sherlock ?

Finally it was Friday and there seemed to be some kind of a limit to how long he could stay away from 221B without making his return really awkward and complicated, so that evening he left the clinic and made his way back to Baker Street as slowly as he could, repeating the story in his head of what had happened to Harry that would explain his need to take off.

All the stories fled his brain like rats from a sinking ship when he stepped into the flat and heard what sounded distinctly like muffled giggles.

Which in itself was totally fine…err….kind of.

But the sounds were coming from Sherlock’s bedroom, from behind the closed door and interspersed were the rich baritones of the man’s voice himself, saying things which were pitching someone (a woman??) into fits of giggles.

_What the FUCK?!_

He went towards the door, his ears almost extending themselves on stalks in order to listen, and then suddenly he heard a THIRD voice, a man, saying “Come on now if I do any more you won’t be able to stand up! Let’s leave something for tomorrow.”

And on cue there were more giggles.

John’s brain was trying to process all the possible scenarios in which this dialogue made any sense and all of them were causing his brain to go into meltdown.

Did Sherlock BLOODY Holmes have TWO people in his BEDROOM? Was this a threesome?

Three days. That is all he was away for. THREE goddamn days. And their flat had turned into Moulin _fucking_ Rouge??

Just then the bedroom door opened and a man came out still talking to someone in the room, asking ”See you tomorrow then?” And he heard Sherlock reply from inside, “I will let you know.”

Then a petite girl came out giggling, followed by the bloody detective himself wearing only a towel around his waist and his entire body gleaming with oil.

John’s brain suffered a brief short circuit of all synapses and for a second he thought he was going to faint like a Victorian damsel. He could hear his frantic heartbeat like the thundering hooves of wild horses.

But then Captain John Watson planted his feet on the ground, locked his hands behind his back, took in a deep breath and just LOOKED at Sherlock, trying very hard to keep his eyes on his face only.

He got a lazy smile back. “Hi John! Was Harry ok?’

John instantly felt like a piece of shit at that. Sherlock had not suspected anything. He had trusted him and just believed what he had said. No questions asked. He simply could not speak out loud and tell Sherlock more lies so he just nodded.

The other man and the woman (girl?) left with a cheery _bye bye_ and then John just looked back at Sherlock with his eyebrows rising almost out of his face.

‘What…..was……that ………about Sherlock?!’

‘Oh just the experiment’, Sherlock shrugged. ‘’You were not around and I needed to continue the data collection, so I hired them.’

‘WHAT?!’ John spluttered. ‘What is WRONG with you?! You can’t just HIRE people to touch and hug and ….…and kiss you or whatever. It’s ridiculous………and dangerous and you stupid git….’

‘Is it really?” drawled Sherlock. ‘The second oldest profession in the world is precisely about all those things isn’t it? ’.

John thought his eyeballs were going to fall off at this. ‘You hired SEX WORKERS?? Are you INSANE???’

‘No John…..’Sherlock gave a sigh and an exaggerated eye roll at the capacity of his blogger to see and smell (really…..could he not smell the flat practically reeking of lemongrass??) and somehow reach fantastically wrong conclusions every time. ‘I needed to scale up the amount of skin to be touched and also the duration so I thought it would be best to hire a masseur. They are from that Bangkok Royal Spa we solved a case for two months ago. And I asked for a man AND a woman so I could compare the data. Obviously.’

John’s breathing re-started at that and his brain started re-connecting some blown circuits. He took a deep breath and smelt the lemongrass oil. Of course. Obviously. _Jesus. What a fool he had made of himself._

‘Ok…ok,’ he said, lifting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “How about some dinner then _?’_ he asked, attempting to salvage some self- respect and steer the conversation away from this.

‘Sure, I am starving…………but I am guessing you don’t want to eat Thai today do you?’ said Sherlock with a smirk. _He was thinking that if John was displaying signs of jealousy, surely that was progress in the right direction.….._

John had the grace to laugh. ‘No. Let me cook something for you. Go shower all that oil off.’

_And there his brain went again. Sherlock’s pale skin gleaming with oil was going to need to be scrubbed rather well……._

After dinner Sherlock actually yawned and said he was going to turn in. Clearly the massage had helped lower his cortisol levels significantly. John could not remember any occasion in all these months of living here when Sherlock had gone to bed voluntarily and that too before him!

John also decided to turn in early and was rewarded with dreams of well-oiled wild horses galloping with him through fields of lemongrass at the edge of a tranquil blue sea.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course it all falls apart…..and Greg is really not an idiot.

The next morning he staggered down in his pyjamas to start making the tea and he kept looking over his shoulder, waiting for his morning hug.

When Sherlock finally emerged from his bedroom, he was fully dressed already. He came into the kitchen and seemed to lean in for a hug but then he sniffed, paused and turned away. He picked up his tea and went straight to his laptop.

John found himself tingling in anticipation at that near- miss and had no idea what had happened.

He had his tea and toast and when his flatmate continued to sit there silently at his laptop he finally asked him, as casually as possible ‘Has Lestrade called with a case then?’

‘Hmm?’ Sherlock hummed, clearly not paying full attention.

John sighed. ‘So how is the experiment going?’

“You know John, this journal says that when men touch other men, they fear that it will raise questions about their sexuality, or that it will feel awkward, or that it will be rejected. Or even worse, that they might enjoy it a little too much. What do you think about that?’

_Right, of course, let’s plunge RIGHT into sexuality and denial and rejection even before the second cup of tea. Well done John. You had to open your big mouth didn’t you?_

Sherlock went on speaking without waiting for a reply. ‘My data analysis shows that the experiment has certainly helped me sleep more and improved my appetite as well as memory. However, the data for the hugs I gave you and the one I received from you shows that the spike is much higher when you hug me back. I also realize that while I have data on me touching you I have no data on you touching me.” He glanced up from the laptop and looked at John.

“But I can deduce from observing you that you have actually been sleeping _less well_ in fact and been more distracted. When I touch you, you have expressed distress and even fear to some extent.”

That piercing gaze scanned him and he continued “You stayed at Molly’s didn’t you? You never went to Harry.”

_What?! How?! Oh the sniff. He must have smelt the detergent and shampoo from Molly’s flat and it had all been masked by the lemongrass the earlier evening. That was why the near- miss with the hug._

John simply had no defense. His shoulders sagged and his eyes fell.

“I am sorry Sherlock, it……” he started to say when his flatmate got up suddenly and said tersely

‘It’s fine John. I know. You are NOT GAY. I get it. I AM a genius remember? But I trusted you. You agreed! And I trusted you to be with me for this and to…….well to not lie to me. But I am sorry.”

Sherlock paused and sounded less sure of himself.

“I should have thought this through. I promise not to touch you again. And I will understand if you decide to move out, although…….”, and suddenly his voice faltered. “…….I promise I will never touch you again if you stay. So, please don’t ……..just….well……. you need to decide.” And with that he swept off into his bedroom and closed the door.

John just sat there rooted to the spot. Sherlock had promised NEVER to touch him again if he stayed?? How was he expected to survive a punishment on that scale???

Oh HOW had everything gone so wrong so fast? All he wanted was to protect himself and he had ended up hurting Sherlock. Badly. And he had absolutely no idea how to make it up to him.

He went up to his room, slowly, his mind going grey and numb and he lay down on his back. He heard the flat door open and close and the front door slam shut and only then did he get out of bed.

He got ready and had tea and packed all his clothes in a bag and kept in on the bed. Maybe he would really need to move out for a few days….or more…till they sorted this thing out, whatever it was.

Then he went to the clinic and kept himself busy solving other people’s problems.

************************************

He texted Greg during lunch and checked if he was free to meet up at the pub later. When they met up, they made some polite conversation for a few minutes and then had a couple of beers in near silence.

Greg finally said “Come on John, what’s eating you? What has Sherlock done _this_ time?”

John replied ‘I will need something much stronger than beer Greg and an oath of secrecy from you. I would never speak of it to anyone but I am genuinely at my wit’s end and I have no one else to share this with.’

‘Oh boy, that sounds serious! At least a 9?’ Greg said, trying for a laugh.

John gave a bitter snort. ‘9?! This crime scene is _way_ off the scale Greg, _way off_. Trust me.’

He came back with two double whiskeys and downed his before Greg could even lift his own up. He then proceeded to speak, hesitantly at first and then more freely as the alcohol loosened his tongue and so did the sympathetic and non-judgmental responses from Greg.

‘So,’ he said finally, ‘what the HELL am I supposed to do?’

Greg looked at him thoughtfully and said,” Sherlock was right you know, you are an idiot.”

‘Thanks mate. That is so NOT helpful right now!’

‘Hey hold on, hear me out. This is _Sherlock_ we are talking about right? _Emotion is a chemical defect? Alone protects me?_ Tell me John, if he ever-- just for the sake of a hypothesis-- if he _ever fell in love with someone_ , do you think he would woo them with choccies and flowers? Or with an experiment on this cortisol thing and charts of ‘acceptable touching’ and …… I don’t know…….maybe a travelling set of custom made tiny poison vials or some kind of ancient ritual human sacrifice dagger or something ? I mean, come on, can you not see this? He seems to be _wooing you_ in his own _entirely_ weird and _totally_ not normal way, because _that is who he is_! And you--you have been in love with him since you shot the cabbie. Yes, yes, I know’, said Greg, raising his hand. ‘I have always known that. I may also be an idiot in front of the genius but I AM one of Scotland Yard’s finest you know! I can also see how you look at him and I know how much you do for him. So what you need to do is take your sorry arse back to your flat and apologize and explain and get it all back mate. It’s there..... just at an arm’s length for both of you. It’s rare you know,’ he said, sighing, rubbing his empty finger with the pale mark of a missing ring, ‘To love someone who loves you back.’

John looked at him and realized that this was the most profound reality of his entire life.

Here, sitting in the Bleeding Heart Tavern near Scotland Yard is where the deepest truth of his life had been revealed. He almost expected a chorus of angels to burst out from behind the clouds, trumpets and all.

Whether he named it or not, he felt it and apparently everyone else could see it.

This was love.

It did not matter that the one person on this entire planet who he loved had a body that identified as male. The one person whose simple touch made his skin sing and whose brilliance and acceptance had made his life a joy. The one person he could not imagine living without.

The same one person who had rejected him outright on the very first day and who believed that emotions were a chemical defect……….so well…there was that…but he LOVED Sherlock and it was wonderful!

Whether or not Greg was right about how Sherlock felt for him in return, he was going to make sure that things did not end up badly because he, Captain John Hamish Watson had survived Afghanistan and then not had the courage to confess to his best friend that he was in love with him.

And as soon as he realized that, he suddenly felt the desperate urge to be back in 221B Baker Street, right NOW.

‘Greg….thank you mate! I have to go’.

‘Yes’ said Greg,’ go on then. Run! May the force be with you!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really is a Bleeding Heart Tavern near Scotland Yard and it also has a crypt! http://bleedingheart.co.uk/ What better place than this for John to have his epiphany?!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John chases his dream but he finds an empty flat. What will he do now ?

John almost ran home from the Tube station. He flew up the stairs and flung the door of the flat open.

It was empty.

There was no one in the kitchen or the bathroom and Sherlock’s bedroom door was open and was that a packed bag by the door?!

He looked around wildly for clues as to what was happening and saw a note stabbed through with their kitchen knife, right above the mantelpiece.

_I am sorry John. It is not fair that you should have to leave because of me. Please stay. I will arrange for my things to be collected tomorrow. SH._

John read the note three times before he understood what it said.

_FUCK. What had Sherlock done? Where had he gone? Why?? Why had he assumed John was going to leave….oh_ bloody hell _, the bag he had packed and kept upstairs in the bedroom! What should he do now?_

He ran downstairs and knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door.

When she opened the door he almost shouted. “Where has he gone Mrs. Hudson? I need to stop him. NOW!”

‘Oh John, hush my niece is here with the baby,’ she said, in a fierce whisper, looking at him most disapprovingly, pursing her lips together. ‘What have you gone and done to my boy?’

‘Oh Mrs. Hudson it is all a stupid misunderstanding. I am an idiot. I am sorry. I ….I need to find him and tell him that. I …..I don’t know where he is and …….’ He just stood there, having run out of words and coherent thoughts, his heart beating at the double at the thought that Sherlock was somewhere out there feeling lonely and hurt and it was all his fault.

‘What happened John?’ she asked him sternly. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

He heaved out a great sigh. Might as well go all in.

‘It started off as an experiment Mrs. Hudson. A silly thing Sherlock wanted to do. To……uh hold hands so he could see if touching would help improve his appetite and sleep patterns. Something to do with skin hunger and cortisol and babies……..and never mind that. I am babbling. Sorry. It seemed to help him, it really did, so we carried on for a week but I couldn’t do it anymore. Being touched by him like this..……it was too much for me.” He rubbed his forehead.

“Uh…..I think you have always known how I feel about him. You were right. But he would have been repulsed by me if he realized that his touch was …..well, making me want more. He doesn’t do emotions Mrs. Hudson. He, well………him and me………..” John stood there, having run out of steam, looking at the floor, his face a warzone of hurt, shame, longing and frustration.

‘Oh my dear boy’, said Mrs. Hudson. ‘Both of you boys,” she clucked in exasperation. “You a DOCTOR and him a DETECTIVE and neither could you diagnose nor could he deduce. Both of you are love sick for each other! Experiment in touching? My foot! Doesn’t do emotions?! HA! The boy is nothing but a mush of emotions covered up with the thickest shell this side of the Galapagos. Sherlock!!” she turned and called out in a stage whisper and to John’s flaming embarrassment he saw his friend coming out from the inner room, his face also a mixture of awkward hope and cautious curiosity, holding on to the baby who was asleep on his shoulder.

‘Sherlock…’John started to say, softly, his voice coming out all strangled. ‘I am sorry. I ran away because I could not deal with my feelings. It was….it is difficult for me to accept that what I feel for you is……more than what you might be comfortable with knowing.”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head at them both in exasperation and took the baby away from Sherlock and went inside.

John swallowed and continued. “I did not have the courage to risk losing what we had Sherlock, for what I may have wanted but…..but you did not. Thinking that my feelings would be un-welcome to you….all that touching was an experiment for you but it was ……well……my skin was on fire every time you touched me. I could not _sleep_. I could not _think_ when you were close to me. I just needed to put a distance between all those……. **thousands** of nerve endings in every square inch of my skin.” He stopped with a bitter laugh.

“ **Millions** ,” whispered Sherlock, coming closer, very much closer, as John just stared at him.

Sherlock tipped his head down, his hands holding John’s face as softly as a cloud in the breeze. His breath was touching John’s lips like tiny rays of a hot sun alighting on a prism. John could almost feel the rainbows pouring out of him from every side.

When their lips were almost touching Sherlock said, “ **Millions** of nerve endings in the lips John” and he held himself right there.

And John moved up to close the distance.

It was like a million locks were finally opened by a million keys, all at the same time.

Every one of those million nerve ending woke up and every single synapse throbbed and every single part of his body buzzed and his brain was filled with the thundering hooves of horses.

His hands moved up to hold Sherlock’s face and finally, _finally_ gods _in heaven,_ he could run his fingers through those curls. Sherlock now had his hand on the back of his neck and one at his waist and suddenly they seemed to be wearing too many clothes and not enough skin.

They broke apart for air and looked at each other and burst into giggles.

‘Shhh!’ Said Mrs. Hudson from inside. ‘You wake her you take her, boys!’

So they left her flat as quietly as they could and went upstairs, with difficulty, because their lips were locked again and hands were all over each other but they finally made it inside and almost fell on the sofa. Shirts came off, as did trousers and pants.

And 21 square feet of skin of an army doctor, scars and all, made contact with 22 square feet of skin of a genius detective and stayed that way for most of the night in varying positions and angles.

That night John had the most perfect dreamless sleep.

In fact, his dream was sleeping in his arms that night, using his chest as a pillow, legs tangled and hands woven together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an epilogue as Chapter 11--don't miss it ! And over the weekend I will be posting the next fic set in 16th century England where Shakespeare gets his plot bunnies from Sherlock and John and writes his sonnets inspired by their love notes :) So do stay tuned !


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs more data sets so he offers a proposal and John is more than happy to accept :)

The next morning John got off the floor of the living room, stiff but so happy he could hardly breathe.

He kept the water to boil for tea.

He _really_ needed to shower and when he was done he came and saw that Sherlock was awake, looking gorgeously sleepy soft with his curls all mussed up, sprawled on the floor like a Renaissance painting. It was drizzling outside but the sun was also sending a cascade of rays into the living room while the raindrops ran down the window.

A perfect day to stay indoors with one’s lover.

He got tea for them both and sat down on the floor.

“So,’ he teased Sherlock, “What is the outcome of your ‘scientific experiment’ now?’

‘Oh John’, Sherlock drawled, “The data is just not adequate at all but _skin hunger_ is truly the right term and I have built up such an _appetite_ for it’, he winked. “I am going to need so many more data sets of different kinds that I think you should expect to stay in my lab for at least………an entire lifetime?” He held out his hand.

John took his hand and smiled. “I think in the interest of science and the progress of the human civilization I can manage to survive that.”

Just then the sun came out from behind the clouds and a perfect rainbow arched its way across Baker Street.

.

.

When John would tell this story many years later to their children (in a sanitized age appropriate version of course) and even more years later to their grandchildren, he would always claim that the rainbow curved and ended exactly where their Pa Sherlock was sitting-- John’s very own pot of gold in a skin suit and he really did hear a chorus of violins play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and liking and commenting ! I hope to start posting my next story over the weekend which is an AU set in 16th century England. Shakespeare gets his plot bunnies from our favourite two. Molly is a Queen and Mycroft is none other than Machiavelli. Do stay tuned for that and hope you enjoy it !


End file.
